An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

In my dream house  so many books on tables and  scattered on the carpet hard backed and soft covers a rainbow of colors and cream colored pages that whisper the secrets hidden in their letters  and a secret lever  on the shelf leads to a secret nook  where I can read  in heavenly quiet and in blissful pleasure

unalloyed emotions  simple and pure  no complications raw and unvarnished Anger without regret  sorrow without guilt  happiness without fear such unfettered reactions without interference from other's opinions oh, to be a child  and experience that again! 

forgiveness is a fickle thing:  they all said I should  but they equate that with  "forget that it ever happened"  forgive and forget  because life goes on  and grudges only  poison your future  just bury it and go on leave the past in the past it has no effect  on whatever comes next but they never forget  they always remind me

Due diligence paperwork all settled  research all done  computations calculated  strategies codified  witnesses gathered arguments written up  she just forgot  to bribe the right people  for a favorable result all that hard work  all for naught  what a shame indeed.

shoe on the other foot  the change makes people so uncomfortable  the fit feels wrong it pinches your toes bunions and callouses they can't stop thinking about how it's inconvenient but if you've always worn  it on that familiar foot  you don't find it strange at all

Memories are fleeting brief cracks of time sometimes so clear  other times so muddled  she does not remember  my face or my voice  I live so far away like a short story in only one printed volume until I am there in person  and somehow suddenly  it produces a spark  of prior knowledge